The Dungeon Master
by talathetemptress
Summary: The dark, sinister, and sensual story of a seventh-year student at Hogwarts, and her favorite professor, Severus Snape. We learn that cauldrons aren't the only steamy things lurking in those dungeons, and that the Half-Blood Prince might just have more love, lust, and life in him than he dares to let on.
1. Prologue

**The Dungeon Master: Prologue**

There was _almost_ nothing I cherished more than the lengthy, grueling hours I spent in _those_ dungeons… _his_ dungeons. In fact, the only thing I loved more than those dungeons was the Dungeon Master himself.

But, before I can wholly divulge the sexual, sensual, and shameful specifics of my gorgeously illicit affair, I should probably commence these chronicles with at least _some_ degree of modesty. Nudity wouldn't be much of a treat if people didn't wear clothes, would it? If everyone was naked all the time, those of us with sexual inclinations wouldn't desire it nearly as much; _exposure_ would lose all its novelty.

In my opinion [ _especially_ after my glorious experiences with the Dungeon Master], _**absolute**_ **gratification is terribly dull**. That's why these accounts do their best work as verbal _stripteases_. Each chapter is simply another piece of clothing discarded, another vial of steamy anticipation… until, eventually, all my sexual secrets and sinful stories lay completely bare to the world.

 _Enter Professor Severus Snape._


	2. Chapter 1

**The Dungeon Master: Chapter 1**

My first six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were uneventful, to say the least.

I wasn't exactly a part of the nightly common room banter my peers shared amongst themselves, nor was I a quidditch star (I couldn't even mount a broomstick). My hair fell to my shoulders in awkward sheets, my glasses always seemed to smudge, and my contributions to my house were hardly remarkable.

Well… that's not entirely true. My two claims to fame were the amount of points I racked up for Ravenclaw, due to my inborn affinity for academics, and the fact that I scored higher on my potions O.W.L.s than the rest of my year. Professor Dumbledore even told me I received the highest score the school had seen from its students in at least a decade.

Nevertheless, I wasn't a fifth year anymore, nor had I been in a long time; those days were far, _far_ behind me. It was the first day of a new term, and my time at Hogwarts was coming to a rather impatient close. Thus, lodged deep into my avid, swollen heart, that clock ticked, tocked, pulsed, and pounded away as I entered the potions dungeon to commence my seventh [and final] year of school.

And, there _he_ stood– ominous, wise, regal, looming, and painfully handsome: a divine concoction of man, bat, and vampire. The dark prince's presence both diminished and invigorated me at once, and before I knew it, I was eleven years old again.

At least, that's how _I_ felt. And acted…

 _Apparently._

I was so stunned by our sudden, physical proximity that I sucked in an abundance of air. It's not that I didn't know he'd be waiting for us in the potions classroom for our first lesson of the term; he was the potions master, after all. It was more so that I forgot just how exquisite he was. Apparently, our reunion was more than enough to separate me from my womanly graces and demote me back to the shy, goofy, childish schoolgirl he still thought me to be.

 _How unfortunate for me._

In my defense, though, a very long, hot, tiresome, and lonely summer preceded that morning, and my mere, mortal memories failed to preserve the extent of his splendor during our time apart. Plus, anyone with eyes and a heart would've been caught off guard at the sight of him.

There was no debating it – his excellence was mythical. I wasn't even sure I could withstand it. Yet, I craved it, and I needed it more than I'd ever needed anything before.

I needed _him_ more than I'd ever needed anything before.

None of that really meant much in the moment, though. As I already mentioned, the allure and grace of a freshly-blossomed, seventeen-year-old woman quickly eluded me upon catching sight of him. The excessive air I consumed proceeded to parch my mouth and catch in my throat, meaning that my first impression on him after my long summer of "late-blooming" wasn't _quite_ as I hoped it would be. Instead, it was completely lost on the debacle that was me choking loudly on _literally_ nothing for an entire, excruciating minute.

The radiant Poppy Arsenault strode into the classroom with her posse. "Freak!" she hissed viciously as she passed by me. Her lovely-looking minions giggled at her comment.

" _Fucking Veela,"_ I thought to myself through my horrific coughing fit.

Between my tired lungs, the mean girls' sniggers, and the scorching gaze of my beloved potions master, all I wanted was for that screwed up day to end.

Fortunately for me, however, Professor Snape had _other_ plans.


	3. Chapter 2

**The Dungeon Master: Chapter 2**

After a grating summer of helping Grandfather (my [muggle] guardian) build homes for families in impoverished areas, the body I arrived with at Hogwarts for my seventh year was all new…

And sexy.

All that "grunt work" sculpted my figure, giving me lean muscle mass, curves, and a voluptuousness I never knew before. My chocolate-brown hair grew out from the awkward haircut I maintained previously, the sun tanned me well, and I even traded out my geeky glasses for fashionable ones before the summer ended. In just a few short months, my appearance altered to the point where many of the males [and a few of the females] building with us asked me to partake in more intimate, one-on-one [and two-on-one] types of "grunt work" with them.

Regardless, even though these offers were long-awaited firsts for me, I turned them all down. I already had six years of unrequited love under my belt, but I still wasn't ready to lose hope. That's why, somewhere amongst all those dark, scorching, lonely summer nights and sunset fantasies, I resolved to make my final year count. I silently swore it would be different from the six before it and, I even promised myself that by year's end, I'd be snogged, adored, loved, and most importantly, popped, fucked, and _gutted_ by my favorite Slytherin.

Professor Snape needed an illicit, student-teacher affair anyways.

And, so did I.

I really believed in the aspirations I etched into the pages of my cranium [and my diary] that summer, _especially_ as I made my way into the potions classroom that morning. I mean, I was armed with sheer hotness and sexy as ever with my newfound, elegant walk. After sixteen years of being geeky, silent, and invisible [and six years of quietly pining after him], it was _finally_ my time to shine. I was of age, having just turned seventeen in May, and I [potentially] oozed femininity and appeal. Little did I realize I would spend my first sixty seconds of the new school year needlessly red-faced, rasping, gasping, and coughing my guts up in front of my peers…

And, _of course_ , the love of my fucking life.

That minute of mortification finally passed, though. Still, before I could even fully gather myself, further humiliation followed.

I stood there, leaning on a stone desk for support and attempting to catch my breath. I dry-heaved, my face felt hot, and my hair was likely tragic.

"Are you all finished, Ms. Nazari?"

His voice trickled out of his barely parted lips, cool and smooth like milk, and warmed my body from head-to-toe. The heat might've come from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but it also might've come from the fact that public humiliation and stern scolding always got me hot – especially when it came from him.

Praying it wasn't obvious how much blood flooded my face in that instant, I straightened up and looked Professor Snape in the eye… something I'd never actually done before. He seemed to notice it too. I could've sworn I saw a light jolt take him as our eyes met. I wondered if he could tell just how many times I'd imagined him saying those exact words to me… just under _different_ (read: more naked) circumstances…

"My apologies, Sir," I responded coyly. Doing my best to drown out the soft sniggers of Poppy and my other, taunting classmates, I plopped my books down on the desk next to me and proceeded to sit down.

"Not there."

I immediately snapped up and out of the seat; I was quite startled, especially since I _always_ sat in the front of the classroom… _especially_ in his class. Before I could open my mouth to respond, however, I was distracted by the stern look on his face, the curl on his thin lips, and the glossy sheen of his raven hair.

"We don't all need to be infected with whatever plague it is you're carrying, Ms. Nazari. There's a seat in the back of the classroom with your name on it. I advise you take it so we can finally begin today's lesson without any further delays or solo performances."

I gulped; I'd always wanted to give him a "solo performance", just with _far_ less coughing [and clothing] involved.

For the previous sixteen years of my life, I always did exactly as I was told. I never had it in me to argue or rebel; I was sweet, innocent, and obedient. But what had that really done for me? _Nothing._ I wasted my entire childhood being the invisible girl or, on better days, a lumpy doormat. The points he and all the other professors awarded me over the past six years suddenly felt insufficient to me, as did my score on the O.W.L.s. What use was any of it if he, and everyone else, still saw me as some eleven-year-old, scrawny, pesky, geeky, childish first year?

For the first time in my Hogwarts career [and my life], I was an adult – an attractive one, at that. I only had one year left to make my dreams come true with the love of my life, and I wasn't going to squander it on hoping things would simply change on their own.

No; _instead_ , I was going to alter my own reality.

Thus, with a sneer worthy of my oppressor himself, I descended back down into the very chair he just banned me from taking. Then, I crossed my arms over my rapidly-beating heart and batted my eyelashes at him. I was so consumed by my nerves that I wasn't even breathing anymore.

A spark in his eyes told me he was just as astonished at my sudden, outright defiance as I was; however, his face was still stone. "That'll be 200 points from Ravenclaw, and four months of evening detention with me, and me alone, Ms. Nazari."

 _Oh, my goodness…_

I didn't care about the points, nor did I mind the snickering from my ridiculous peers. Not only was I his front-and-center for the remainder of the morning, but I earnedmore quality time with him than I ever imagined possible!

Professor Snape swiveled around to the blackboard and began smashing chalk against it as he wrote. His frustration was _extremely_ sexy.

Only one thing mattered to me as I sat there that morning, fidgeting, squeezing my legs together, and completely failing to focus on the lesson: the dark prince was _finally_ going to be mine and, more importantly, **I was** _ **finally**_ **going to be his.**

I, Saira Ahad Nazari, was going in for the kill…

Once I figured out how to flirt, that is.


End file.
